My parents sing the song they dedicated to me when I was born: the one who says girls are dumber, the one who says girls are always simple minded, the one who says girls are shy, is crazy, is crazy, is crazy. The one who says girls do not take risks, the one who says they are always crybabies, whimsical and restless, is nuts, is nuts, is nuts. Girls are as smart as the boys. Girls are as daring and fast; girls are as brave as the boys. Girls also know how to endure. The one who says that girls are weaker, the one who says girls are always capricious, the one who says girls are oversensitive, is foolish, is foolish, is foolish. The one who says girls are fearful, accusatorial, and always delicate, and then stupid and bothersome, is insane, is insane, is insane. Girls are as smart as the boys. Girls are as daring and fast; girls are as brave as the boys. Girls also know how to endure.

A video, two people singing separately and joined within a single image. Mom and Dad, singing to their little girl, or to her memory. But each one with different expressions. Though they are in different places, there is a likeness in the scene, the inside of a home, which might seem as the same. The video camera faces them, as well as the telephone. They tell their daughter Maj that she is as capable as any boy. Together, the images generate a strange feeling, one of comparison, as if through the song a certain truth is being sought, or trying to say something that words cannot convey. Both act and evidence themselves, two portraits that represent the childhood scene. But, who are they singing to; their daughter, or their memories? And Maj; what is she trying to find in such a nostalgic act? The feelings mingle with the tune, escaping, returning, sticking, but there they are, present in every instant of the video.